


King and Lionheart

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Break-up sex, Christmas holiday, Dreams and Nightmares, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear, Friendship, Godric's Hollow, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwart's Express, Hogwarts, King and Lionheart, Lies, M/M, Outdoor Sex, POV Second Person, Painful Sex, Painplay, Panic Attacks, Potter brothers, Puddlemere United, Quidditch, Regret, Room of Requirement, Sex, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Train Sex, Twins, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:53:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all of the odds stacked against you and despite your better judgment, in those few fleeting moments that passed between you, you had found that you had more in common with James Potter that you would have ever guessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ship to Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> I completely blame Unkissed for my dirty new obsession with Scorpius/James.;) 
> 
> Many elements of this story are borrowed from existing facts in our massive universe and tweaked to my liking, credit to my writing partner, Unkissed, in that regard.
> 
> Endless worship and adoration for my friend and muse in all things, yep you guessed it, Unkissed. ;) 
> 
>  
> 
> I have plans to continue this story because hey, I hate being left in suspense as much as you do.

You cannot help but smile as the tips of your fingers drag along the delicate curve of his spine, leaving a noticeable trail of gooseflesh in their wake. Quietly, you suck your bottom lip into your own mouth and you find a sick sort of amusement in the knowledge that the simple power of your touch has had this effect on more than one Potter.

 

He mumbles something unintelligible that twists the faint smile on your lips into a smirk and you lean forward, hushing him with a soft kiss upon a shoulder. “Sleep now,” you whisper, the tip of your nose brushing over pale skin. 

 

When his body falls back into the rhythmic tones of sleep you resume your quiet exploration, fingertips tracing over the expanse of exposed flesh at your disposal. You catalogue every imperfection, every freckle, mentally comparing them to those of his younger sibling; whose skin you are _more_ than acquainted with. From behind they appear startlingly similar to the untrained eye, but you are anything but the untrained eye. Where Albus was all pale limbs and undefined muscles, James was tanned and taut in ways and places that should, in their own right, be illegal.  When it was Albus beside you, the sex was always a joint effort—both working to bring the other to the perfect end.  James was different in this regard as well. His loathing of you was only countered by your loathing of him. This wasn’t sex and this definitely wasn’t a joint effort. This was two selfish people getting off on the pain that bled out of more than just these stolen moments.

 

You know that you are playing with fire, but with each passing day you find that you care a little bit less. Albus has been away for months, and although you know that it is he whom you love above all else, it does not stop you from diving into these situations with James whenever you can. 

 

This had all started after James had stumbled upon a grim scene behind Greenhouse number four that he should have just walked away from. Lorcan had you shoved up against the back wall with both hands around your throat. You had just begun to lose consciousness when James had come up and ruined everything. You remember hearing his voice break though the humming of blood in your ears and thinking it was Albus. You had opened your eyes and peered at him through dimming vision and had instantly felt disappointed. Lorcan didn’t even falter when James told him to let you go and if you had been a bit more conscious you would have felt his fingers tighten instead of loosen.

 

Scamander had been stalking you since you’d returned to school, broken by Albus’ departure and alone in more ways than one. It didn’t take much for you to give him what he wanted, although at the time you had no real idea of what it was that Lorcan wanted.  The entirety of your sexual exploration included Albus alone, and although he himself had “set you free” before he left, you never felt anything more than discarded.  Scamander was rough and had a cruel glint in his eyes that scared you. When he fucked you, you felt it for days and it was certainly better than feeling nothing at all. He treated you like you meant nothing at all to him and you didn’t care, in fact, you welcomed the distraction from the gaping hole Albus had left in your soul. 

  
This particular night Lorcan had snapped his fingers impatiently and instructed you to lose your trousers. Instead of flipping you around and pressing your face painfully into the wall he wrapped a hand around your throat and forced you up against Greenhouse number four. There were no words exchanged between you as he stepped into your personal space and parted your thighs, nothing but a satisfied smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he raised up your leg and forced himself inside of you. You were no longer a stranger to the painful burn that Scamander brought with him and although you would have very much liked to cry out and squirm away from the pain, you did nothing because you think that this pain is better than the _other_ pain; the one that consumes you in the darkness when you are alone.

 

Lorcan sighs contentedly when an errant tear escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your cheek and you feel his muscles quiver in delight beneath his clothing. You think he gets off on hurting you more than actually fucking you because you’ve seen that hungry look in his eyes every time you cry or whimper. You are using each other as a means to a very different end and it doesn’t matter because you’ve already stopped fighting.

 

When he joins his hands together around your throat you don’t even object and when the force of his grip is enough to make the blood pound in your ears you wrap your leg around his waist and do your best to hold on. He’s watching you intently as he quite literally pounds the life out of you and you wonder if your own detached fascination with the moment has anything to do with the lack of oxygen to your brain.  By the time James stumbles upon the two of you, your vision has blurred nearly to the point of blackness and it is only the sound of his voice that manages to break through the thick fog that is quickly consuming you. Lorcan ignores James and grips you tighter, and although you don’t hear it, a grunt of satisfaction escapes him.  James is torn because he hates you, but that pesky Gryffindor blood that he bleeds will not let him simply walk away.

 

You only hear snippets of the exchange between Potter and Scamander and when the latter’s hold on you abruptly disappears, you sink to the ground in a semi-conscious heap. 

 

“Wake up, Malfoy.” It’s the tone of his voice that pierces your murky thoughts and has you opening your eyes in confusion. You will never get over how similar James’ voice is to Albus’ and it will chip away at your insides a little bit more with each passing day.

 

  
“Piss off,” You manage with a slight slur, which pulls a snort from him almost immediately.   “I only saved your life, you’re welcome.” He sounds just like the annoyingly superior Gryffindor that you’ve grown up despising for one reason or another and it annoys you that he’s yet again, stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong. “I don’t need your help.” You spit back, wincing slightly as you touch fingers to the bruised flesh at the base of your neck. 

 

You ignore his smart response and cast your gaze around the immediate area, half expecting to come upon Lorcan’s watchful gaze lurking in the shadows. You know you should feel ashamed over the current situation but you’ve never cared what anyone thinks of you and you were not about to start now. He watches you as you find your footing and stand up and when you wobble for just a second on your feet, he cannot help but smirk. He doesn’t appear to be overly concerned with your condition and you find that obvious lack of compassion oddly comforting. You don’t need someone to coddle you and tell you that everything is going to be all right—that was never what this thing with Lorcan was about.

 

James doesn’t ask your permission when he falls into step beside you, and by the time the castle comes into full view you think you have this whole ‘walking’ thing under control. The night is silent and consuming all around you and when you glance at him, he looks like he is a million miles away. What you don’t know is that James will never be able to get the vision of you and Lorcan out of his mind. He knows that it is unhealthy and he realizes that Lorcan is about as unhinged as they come, but there is just _something_ about the scene that he finds oddly erotic. When James lies down in his bed in Gryffindor tower he will stare at the ceiling and replay this night in his head over and over, picking out every fine detail and savoring each one like the sweetest candy. His breath will quicken when he remembers how tightly Scamander’s fingers were wound around your delicate throat, and he will bite his lip to stifle a soft moan every time he thinks back to how beautiful you looked even as your life was running away from you. This memory will serve as wank fodder for James Sirius for a long time to come, even after the two of you start sleeping together.

 

Just inside the castle you part ways without a word and when you glance over your shoulder at the bottom of the stairs leading to the dungeons, he’s watching you in a way that is not unfamiliar. The walk back to the Slytherin common room was a quiet one and you yearn for another distraction so you don’t have to look at yourself. You climb into your bed without bothering to undress and you hold yourself in the darkness and pretend that it isn’t Lorcan’s scent that clings to your skin and clothes like a possession.

 

“I’m going to hex that little freaks’ balls off.” Alexa mutters under her breath as she and her brother Duston flank you in the corridor on the way to the great hall the next morning. She’s eyeing the ugly ring of bruises that circle your throat like the most intimate piece of jewelry and you cannot help but smile at her veracity.

 

“Proceed with caution, A.” You say with a tired laugh and when she curls her lip and growls like a guard dog you laugh a little bit more.

 

Duston says nothing on the matter but you don’t miss the solemn look on his face or how his muscles tense beneath his robes when he thinks no one is watching. You are thankful for your friends, even if they can’t really ease the pain of loneliness as much as you wish they could. They are good to you, and you sometimes think that you do not deserve them.

 

It’s right in the middle of pushing your breakfast around on your plate when you feel his gaze on you and you look up, pale blue eyes scanning the massive room. Lorcan is seated at the Ravenclaw table with his brother, both with their backs to the Slytherin table, but it is not Scamander’s gaze you feel the weight of, it’s James’. Your eyes meet for only a moment before you look away, but it is long enough to know that you are going to be in trouble.

 

He finds you down by the lake during the Charms class that you’ve blown off and you are only vaguely curious how he did it. He climbs right up onto the big boulder you are leaning against and peers down at the sketchpad propped up against your bent knees. He asks you why you aren’t in class and you ignore him because you are not about to play nice with James Potter now. He asks you what you are drawing and you snort because if it isn’t obvious then you are worse at this than you originally thought. “I don’t like to be ignored,” He says with a chipper tone that makes the corners of your lips twitch against your better judgment.  He takes your silence as a challenge and spends the better part of the following hour saying the most obnoxious things that come to mind in an effort to unsettle you.

 

When you can’t take it anymore you heave a dramatic sigh and crane your neck back to peer up at him above with the most withering expression you can manage. “What do you want, James?” You ask plainly, not really expecting a straight answer.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy, I don’t want anything.” His cool response offers very little and you sigh and turn your attention back to the open pad of parchment waiting in your lap.  “Then leave me alone.” You add dismissively, and when he says nothing in return, you are silently thankful.

 

Despite your very best efforts James manages to find you no matter where you hide and although his presence frustrates you, you have given up trying to outwit him. He never says much to you at all, which you are perfectly fine with and sometimes he disappears again after a few minutes, as if his appearance was merely to acknowledge the fact that he could find you whenever he chose.

 

“Don’t you have people to stalk who actually _want_ you around?” You asked him this one afternoon in a sixth floor corridor that you had slipped down to avoid being cornered by Scamander. He shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the stonewall behind him, undeterred by your thinly veiled insult.

 

“I’m not stalking you,” He says plainly, and you do not miss the way his nose wrinkles with distaste.

 

You raise a skeptical brow at him and say nothing, which prompts him to continue.

 

“I just don’t want to see my brother lose his shit when Lorcan kills you.” James averts his gaze as he speaks and shrugs a shoulder as if implying that he doesn’t really care about it either way, which you find amusing. James has always made it extremely easy to hate him, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say that James Potter actually cared about someone other than himself. However abstract.

 

“Your concern is touching, but I don’t need a bodyguard.” You want to say that Lorcan is all bark but you stop yourself because even _you_ don’t really believe it. “Albus has his career, I doubt much _shit_ would be lost.” You don’t mean to sound so bitter, especially around someone like James, but you can’t really help yourself and so you look away instead.

 

James doesn’t say anything more for a long while, which you find odd considering how much he enjoys the sound of his own voice. You cannot help but wonder why he had suddenly taken up such an interest in you when he’s made it very clear over the years that he barely tolerates you. Perhaps if this was a different time and you were still a different person you would tell him to piss off and leave him to it in this corridor, but you have very little fight left in you and so you heave a quiet sigh and say nothing at all.

 

Eventually James grows bored of the silence and he disappears, but not before instructing you to ‘watch yourself,’ especially in sparsely populated parts of the castle. You remain in that hall for a long while, confused and bitter and desperate for a distraction. You consider going back to Lorcan. Whatever damage he inflicted would surely be better than the deafening silence that eats away at you moment by moment, wouldn’t it? You tell yourself that you have nothing left to lose as you push away from the wall and straighten your tie. Lorcan would be cross and there would certainly be punishment, which a part of you secretly yearns for. By the time you are heading down a second set of stairs there is a fire behind your ears that makes your skin tingle and burn. You don’t even realize that you are running until you stop to catch your breath just outside the castle doors. It takes you a minute to realize that you seemed to have somehow lost the day and jumped into the darkness again. After a brief pause you jump off the steps and head around the east side of the castle; the last place that he touched you. Blood swirls in your ears and your chest aches and it is these things you will blame later for not hearing the pound of footsteps behind you.

 

When a hand catches your arm and tugs you back sharply, you let out a surprised yelp and nearly fall to the ground. “What the fuck?” Your words come out like a sharp hiss as you stand eye to eye with James. You’re panting out puffs of breath and trying your best to wrench your arm out of his grasp, which is much harder than you think it should be. “You’re a thick one, aren’t you Malfoy?” His words grate on your nerves and his superior smirk is begging to be wiped off his face. You didn’t ask for this and you certainly didn’t ask for _him_. “Get a new hobby James, I’m tired of this.” When he releases your arm you hold it protectively against your chest and rub absently at the indents his fingers had left behind. You watch him from behind narrowed eyes and it quickly becomes clear that he is struggling to get out whatever it is that he wants to say. “I can’t.” He says finally, with a tone so low that it is nearly a whisper.

 

The blood cools in your veins and you instinctively take a step back from him, head shaking sadly.  “Stop it.” You say and then you turn away and hope that he doesn’t stop you again.

 

“I can’t.” He says again, and the desperation in his voice is enough to make you pause and glance over your shoulder at him. When you look at James, _really_ look at him; you realize that you are seeing him for the first time. He looks as tortured and haunted as you feel and you wonder how you never spotted it before now. You have never given James Potter much thought beyond the fact that he was the annoying older sibling of Albus and Lily. You never bothered to notice that the lines that creased his face were so similar to the ones that carved out your heart that they could easily pass as one in the same. You had no way of knowing who hurt James or why, and it didn’t matter—Not really.

 

Against all of the odds stacked against you and despite your better judgment, in those few fleeting moments that passed between you, you had found that you had more in common with James Potter that you would have ever guessed. 

 

The silence that mounted between you went unnoticed as you stood there, frozen in a stare that said so much and nothing at all. All of your thoughts were focused on a solitary understanding that had nothing to do with Lorcan or Albus or any other ugly little truth that may be hiding inside that head of yours.  When he moved closer you did not back away and by the time he was pressing you up against the side of the castle walls your breath was trapped in your chest and your pulse was a noose around your throat.

 

You know that everything about this is wrong on so many levels, but you tell yourself that it doesn’t matter as you fist the front of his shirt and kiss him.

 

It doesn’t matter.

 

Never let it be said that James Sirius and Albus Severus are interchangeable. For all of their familial similarities, there are countless differences that you cannot help but silently tick off in your head as you unearth them; one by one. James kisses exactly like you imagine he would—Rough, wet, and all in. There is no hesitation as he presses against you, effectively sealing out any remaining spaces that lingered between you. His tongue is fat and warm and it slides over your teeth and the roof of your mouth with just enough force to make you forget that what you are doing is terribly stupid. Your fingers twist roughly in the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck and he bites down sharply on your bottom lip in retribution. It doesn’t take you long to familiarize yourself with the take-take nature that is James Potter and before you can stop to catch your breath he has effectively stripped away any reservations that you may have had.

 

There are no words exchanged between you and the wet sounds of clashing lips and tongue filled the night air that surrounded you. His fingers tugged at the hem of your jumper and impatiently wriggled themselves beneath it to slide over your skin, which pulled a soft sigh from between your parted lips. It took him seconds to divest you of that same jumper and the up cropping of gooseflesh on your bared skin was another welcome distraction.

 

There was no hesitation in James’ actions; no need or desire to hide that was greater than the need and desire that spurred his actions. You couldn’t help but marvel at this total and complete lack of discretion and it didn’t take you long at all to liken to it.  Something clicked inside your head and your fingers sprang to life, clawing at his Gryffindor robes with an intent that you haven’t felt in a long time. His bare skin was forbidden and decadent and at that moment you wanted nothing more than to taste every inch of him.  Desire twisted your insides as fingertips dragged over the taut muscles of his chest and the quiet groan of approval that escaped him set your senses aflame. You took his forearms in your grasp and reversed your positions and when he opened his mouth to object you silenced him with another kiss. Gone were your reservations and you ignored the fact that this was Albus’ brother that you were currently snogging against the Hogwart’s castle. Albus wasn’t here, and it was easier to tell yourself that maybe he never was.

 

Your grip on James loosened as your leaned over him, trailing a slow line of wet kisses across his chest that pulled another delicious whimper from him. His skin was hot like wildfire and tasted like smoke and sin and it made your head spin and swirl with desperation. When your fingers curled into the front of his trousers and undid the fastenings, he did not object one bit and when you dropped to your knees and glanced up at him, he looked at you like you were the most important thing in his entire world and it made you want to cry.

 

It wasn’t until you were tugging his trousers down over his hips that you realized that James Potter had a very _proficient_ reason for acting like a smug bastard and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself at the irony of the moment. Of course the biggest prick you’ve ever met was quite _literally_ the biggest prick you’ve ever met.

 

Of course he was.

 

You felt his gaze on you and you glanced up as your closed a hand around his hardened length and gave it a couple of experimental strokes. James shuddered softly under your touch and you smirked up at him, satisfied to have finally found something that could effectively shut him up. Your tongue darted out and swirled over the tip of the cock in your hand and you quietly ticked off another difference in your head. By the time you have taken as much of him as you can into your mouth you realize how fucked up this situation is and you tell yourself that you don’t care. You swaddle him with the soft curve of your flattened tongue and the desire in his eyes as he watches you is nearly too much for you to process. 

 

Your movements are slow and deep and it doesn’t take very long at all before he is cradling the back of your head and gently guiding your movements. The genuine tenderness of his touch surprises you and you find that you almost prefer the pain because it renders you incapable of having to think too much.  James is slowly fucking your mouth and the taste of his brackish essence on your tongue is just enough to pull a quiet moan from your throat. His eyes never leave you, not even when he comes and when you pull off of him, panting and breathless, he drags you back to your feet and kisses you hard.  You are both panting when your lips part, and when he reaches for your trousers you shake your head and kiss him again. 

 

James is confused by your actions but not terribly concerned by them, which is a stark contrast to how he feels about his own actions. He knows that he has just dug his own grave and he isn’t sure which brother he owes more guilt, but he doesn’t regret what he’s done with you because he thinks you are as selfish as he is. He’s watched you manipulate his brother for the last six years and he has been haunted so often by the memory of you and Lorcan that he sees it even when his eyes are not closed. He knows what you are, and more importantly, he doesn’t care.

 

By the time you are sneaking into your dorm the rest of your mates are sleeping and you lie atop your four-poster for a long time and think about what you’d done. Somehow you doubt this is what Albus meant when he said you were free to do as you wish and you don’t know if this is something he can forgive you for.  By the time you are drifting off to sleep you are exhausted and your dreams are riddled with faceless people who still manage to see right through you.

 

The next morning at breakfast you get an owl from Albus and it’s like a punch in the stomach and you feel like you want to throw up. Duston furrows his brow at your peaky complexion and Alexa plucks the owl from your loose grasp and tears it open to read it to you. Albus’ letter is short and vague and he sounds terribly happy, all of which make you feel like shit.

 

You have finally become that terrible person that you always knew you were.

 

It’s two days later when James pulls you into a shadowy alcove as you’re leaving Alchemy and you aren’t even surprised because you’ve been expecting it.  “We need to talk.” He hisses quietly in your ear and when you nod silently he instructs you to meet him during dinner at the top of the staircase of the seventh floor. You barely have time to raise a brow before he is gone, disappearing into the countless heads milling about the halls. Despite your best efforts the rest of your day is spent thinking about James Potter and you silently curse his name every half hour. By the time dinner rolls around you have wrung yourself out with every emotion on the scale and you think you have nothing left. James is waiting for you at the top of the stairs and his throat flushes slightly when he catches sight of you at the bottom. No words are exchanged as you take each step and when you join him at the top he turns and heads towards a deserted section of the castle that you have never seen before.

 

“What are we doing up here?” You ask flatly as you watch him pace back and forth in front of a smooth patch of stonewall, muttering quietly to himself. “Shut up.” He hisses and although you snort, you say nothing more. 

 

When a door appears in the center of the wall that had been solid stone moments before you raise a questioning brow that makes him grin proudly. “I know this castle better than anyone.” He says as he opens the door and disappears inside the room beyond.

 

Whatever you had been expecting, what you find when you follow James beyond the door is not it.  The room looks like an unassuming loft with simple furniture, which seems severely out of place in the castle.  “What is this place?” You ask, stepping farther into the vaulted room that was draped in monochromatic tones.  “Room of Requirement.” James says with a shrug of his shoulder as if it is common knowledge.

 

“I’ve heard about this place, I thought it was just a story.” You add with a smile, turning around to face him.

 

“Definitely more than a story.” He says with a faint smile of his own, and just like that, the weight of the moment comes bolting back to you.

 

“Why are we here, James?” You ask, cutting right to the point.

 

He blinks and swallows before opening his mouth and you do not miss the way his bottom lip quivers imperceptibly. “Figured we needed to discuss what happened.”

 

“Why? It was just a blowjob.” You say, only a little bit more coldly than you mean to sound, crossing your arms and fixing him with a blank stare.

 

When he flinches at your words you are taken aback and when he laughs nervously and rubs the back of his head, it reminds you of Albus and you feel vaguely ill again.

 

“Albus is —“ He starts, but you cut him off with a louder voice and a raised hand because you don’t want to hear it.

 

“Albus isn’t here.” You say and you don’t even try and disguise the bitterness this time.

 

“You don’t regret it?”

 

“Should I?”

 

“Probably.” He says and it makes you laugh a bit sadly. “Albus isn’t here.” You say again, and when you take a step towards him he licks his lips because he can’t help himself.

 

When you stop just out of his reach he bites down on his bottom lip and tells himself that that this doesn’t matter. It is much easier for him to live with the repercussions of his actions when he is not an invested party. You may belong to his brother, but his brother had left you unattended and that was not his problem.

 

Your mind is a thrashing jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions that you ignore because you can. You are tired of feeling alone and tired of being miserable and if James was the person who could make you forget those things then you would gladly suffer the consequences.

 

“Albus isn’t here,” James whispers as he takes another step closer to you, watching you with eyes that had darkened to chips of blackened sapphire. What you don’t hear, is the part he tells himself about Teddy not being here either and although he knows you would understand on a level that most could not, he will never tell you about that part of his life.

 

When James’ forehead rests against yours, your eyes flutter shut and you sigh softly. You had been looking for a distraction to the pain you felt for so long that you hadn’t bothered to realize that you were going about it all wrong. For all of Lorcan’s twisted torture he had never made you feel like this and although it was nearly too much to take, you silently wished for it all.

 

There is no shame in his eyes as he slowly divests you of your clothing, stripping away your layers, piece by piece. His fingertips trace over the pale smoothness of your skin and you cannot help the soft whimper of satisfaction that escapes you because even though it was just a touch, you haven’t felt this wanted in a long time.

 

When James lays you back against a mound of pillows you go willingly, opening yourself up to him and allowing him to slowly work you apart. By the time he presses himself inside of you, you are lost upon a sea that you aren’t sure you can find your way back from. His touch is gentle and somehow still needy and you revel in it and try and ignore the tears in your eyes.

 

You are seventeen going on infinity and as you lie there, staring up at the ceiling high above you realize that you will never be any more than what you are right now and you find that you are okay with that. You don’t have any idea how he’s managed it, but there is no denying that James has effectively brought you back to life.

 

It is two weeks later when you will lie beside him in this very room and listen to the sound of his sleep. You will trace your fingertips over his freckled and tanned skin and amuse yourself with the long list of differences between two brothers that you have tallied in your head. Any reservation that you may have once clung to will be long gone and you will no longer fight the deafening pull that is James Potter.

 

You will still have no _real_ idea who he is beyond these ever-changing walls or what motivates him, but it will no longer matter because you will have finally realized that this; whatever it is…

 

It is mutual.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is right here that you realize that you are in more trouble than you ever thought possible, because despite your very best efforts you haven’t just been fucking James Potter, you’ve been allowing him to build a home inside of you and that is the most dangerous thing in the world.

“Tell me how you’re doing it.” You say with a smile as you flatten yourself against a large boulder, eyes never leaving him.

 

“Doing what?” He replies with an air of casualness that makes you laugh softly and shake your head because you know he is full of shit.

 

“How do you keep finding me?” You ask, fingers splayed open against the smooth stone stretched out behind you.

 

He seems to consider your question for an extended moment and the way his eyes move over you, piercing every inch of you through your clothes is enough to get your pulse jumping.

 

There is a cool breeze ruffling your hair that sends a ripple of gooseflesh down your spine and you shiver involuntarily and clench your fists. The weather has already begun turning and before you know it Christmas holiday will be upon you, forcing you to think about difficult subjects that you have been avoiding for months. You have no real desire to return to the reality that is quickly advancing on you, not when you have the most brilliant distraction.

 

You hadn’t started this school year with the intention of sleeping with James Potter but somehow that is exactly where you ended up and now here you were, months later, sneaking off to be with him because he is like a flame and you are the god-damned moth.  No one knew about all the dirty little things you did with James when they weren’t looking and you think that it is better this way because you don’t think they would understand your reasons for sleeping with Albus’ brother. It was easier than you thought it would be to ignore this major factor in the non-relationship you had with James. You may have secretly enjoyed comparing the countless similarities and differences between two brothers, but there was no denying that as time passed, it was becoming extremely easy to ignore the guilt that you associated with James Potter.

 

Tonight you were supposed to meet him on the seventh floor but had run for the cover of darkness beyond the walls of the castle instead. There had been no change of plans, no confirmation, but it didn’t matter; you knew he would find you. It had become a game between you. You would seek out the most hidden spots in the castle and James would locate you, every time. Just like that first time he’d performed this same trick; you wondered how he was doing it. James had all the punch lines and knew all the tricks and you _knew_ that this was just another in an endless line.

 

You watched him as he rounded a large boulder and inched towards you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Your gaze moved over him unashamed, quietly appreciating the view. Of course muggle denims had long since interwoven into wizarding society and it was not uncommon to see most students sporting them out of uniform. Albus had been rather fond of a certain pair of dark, tight fitting denims himself, but this different. James wasn’t _wearing_ the jeans; the jeans were _wearing_ James like they knew he made them look damn good.  You have long-since given up any lingering reservations you may have had about what you are doing with James. You tell yourself that you don’t care anymore because the thrill of the chase keeps you alive, even when you are alone. Out in the open you and James are two different people—A Gryffindor and a Slytherin whose paths rarely cross. Sometimes you can feel the weight of his gaze on you and you will shudder to yourself involuntarily and hope that no one notices. You don’t know what it is about him that you find so appealing or why it is that you find yourself longing for his touch even after you’ve just left him. Despite any effort he has effectively worked his way inside of you in every way imaginable and it is this truth that you deny the most. 

 

This is only a game. Only a game.

 

“I’ll always find you.” He says in a tone that sets fire to your blood and your eyes shutter and you swallow thickly like an attention-starved animal.  

 

“Always?” You manage in a dry whisper, eyes still closed.

 

His silence makes your ears ring and even with your eyes closed you can feel the electricity under his skin as he draws near. Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches up and touches the pads of his fingertips to the base of your throat. You think you can hear the blood pumping in his veins just out of reach and you wet your lips because it makes you crazy. “Pretty thing,” he says as he leans up against you and presses his lips to your jawline. You know he is purposely avoiding going down that road because it always leads to the same place and neither one of you want to talk about Albus. Not tonight.

 

Your skin crackles and burns beneath the weight of his kiss and the heat spreads out away from the point of contact, quickly consuming every inch of you. Your fingertips curl against hard stone rock as he kisses you again, this time the first in an intimate circle around your neck. You aren’t stupid; you know what he’s doing even though it is never said aloud. You remember that circle of bruises around your throat like a vague nightmare that clings to your subconscious, but not James. He remembers it like a blinding beacon that calls to him in the darkness. When he closes his eyes he still sees you like you were and it is that version of you that helps him live with his actions every single day.

 

By the time he works his way across the flushed skin at the base of your throat you are ready to scream. Your body arches away from the large rock behind you and you claw at his jumper like a desperate and needy thing. He is unfazed by your actions and he continues to tease you in that way that you find absolutely maddening. You feel like you want to tear his skin off and climb inside of him and it scares you because you can’t remember if it ever felt this way with Albus. He soothes you with a touch to the back of your wrist and the way that his fingertips smooth over your jagged pulse is enough to pull a soft sigh from within you.

 

His hands part your button down and smooth over the pale flesh hidden beneath and he ignores that sensation in the back of his mind that this is terribly wrong. Self-service has always come easy to him and he is starting to wonder why this should even matter to someone like him. He tells himself that it doesn’t matter anymore what these moments with you mean because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care who they hurt and what they destroy because he needs this as much as you do and maybe just a little part of him likes the feeling of destruction.

 

By the time he’s sliding your trousers down over your hips you are blinded by a desperation that hurts in the best possible ways. The back of your head thuds dully against the boulder as he takes your freed erection in his hand and you gasp breathlessly because his touch is like wildfire. His kisses are hard and fast and they give him away and it makes you laugh in a voice that sounds very little like your own. He silences you with a firm stroke and your mouth gapes and your eyes flutter. 

 

No one has ever had this much control over you before. Not your parents, not Lorcan, and certainly not Albus. You feel like you could easily lie down and surrender yourself at James’ feet and it scares you because you don’t know what that says about you at all. 

  
When you open your eyes he’s right there, watching you with an expression that you cannot read. “Fuck me.” He says plainly; as if this were any random conversation and it strikes you so harshly that you think you visibly flinch.  “What?” You manage, eyes wide.

 

“I want you to fuck me.” He says again without a solitary hint of disdain or impatience. His thumb swirls slowly over the head of your cock and your consciousness melts just a little bit around the edges and you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

 

You wonder if he knows about the pact you made with Albus when he left and why this is coming up now. The brief touch of subconscious stings and you quickly close it off and push Albus and everything to do with him as far away as you can and force yourself back into the present. Albus isn’t here, after all.  “Tell me how you find me,” You whisper in his ear before catching the soft lobe between your teeth, gently rolling it and scoring it before releasing it. “And I’ll fuck you.” You add this part a bit more loudly and when you smirk against his skin, his small shudder is gratifying.

 

Just like that you have managed to turn the tables on him and he cannot hide the soft whimper of approval that escapes him when you nip at his flesh. James pushes you because he can’t help himself, it is in his nature to bend you until you break and even _he_ cannot deny that your pliancy intrigues him. “Deal,” he replies casually, because he isn’t quite ready to give up all of his secrets yet.

 

His hand glides over your length in maddeningly slow succession until you are squirming and panting and begging him not to stop. He squeezes and strokes you until you lose your mind and when you come in his hand your vision blacks out and you momentarily see stars that have nothing to do with the sky above.

 

You are still lost on that same rapturous sea when he parts your thighs and steps closer to you. Your leg rests on his arm and your eyes flutter closed as his fingers find your most hidden spots and when he breaches you, you stifle a soft cry and your head drops forward to rest on his shoulder. James is relentless and he doesn’t even give you a moment to think or breathe, and before the semen has even cooled he is already pushing you towards your breaking point again.  His fingers work you apart with a gentle grace that you have come to know rather intimately. Your teeth sink into him and hang on because he is teasing you and when you feel like you cannot take another second of it he quickly removes his fingers and replaces them with the head of his cock.

 

He will never tire of the look on your face when you are teetering on the very edge of desire and madness. He thinks you could be the most wild and beautiful thing he has ever touched and his desire to break you threatens to consume him most days. You will never know that James sees more of himself in you than he cares to admit, and it is this secret that drives his desire more than anything else. You are the only thing in this world that is more monstrous than he is and if he can’t break you than no one can.

 

  
James is fucking you so firmly up against that large boulder at the far edge of the black lake that you will have bruises down your spine for a solid week. Every time he sinks into you, your spine cracks against cold stone and you are stuck on an endless loop of pleasure and pain. You think he knows exactly what he is doing and you welcome it because you are long past giving a shit about right and wrong.  “I’m going to come again,” You hiss around grit teeth and when he laughs breathlessly in your ear you think you can lose it all right there.  

 

He pulls back to watch you and his hand rests loosely at the base of your throat where that imaginary ring of bruises still sits. He thrusts into you so deeply that it forces repeated whimpers from you and when your eyes roll back into your head his insides liquefy and he buries himself inside of you and lets it all go.

 

It’s not much later when you lie naked in the damp grass beside him, skin and sin all laid out for the night to see openly. The dull ache of bruising and abused skin is like the sweetest aftermath and you smile up at the stars above because you no longer care if they are judging you. You roll over and drape the upper half of your body over him and you smile when his arm circles you and holds you closer. “You’re going to be the death of me.” You murmur lazily against his lips, which makes him chuckle softly into your open mouth. “I hope so,” he replies as you kiss him and you hope he means it.

 

Five days later James catches you in the narrow corridor of the Hogwart’s Express and drags you by the arm into a vacant compartment. He presses you up against the back of the door and kisses you so hard that you cannot think and when you break apart panting you can only stare at him with a jumbled mixture of emotions that include loathing and desire. “How am I supposed to survive two weeks without you?” He says, eyes searching yours for any glimmer of understanding.  Your heart splinters because you are not prepared for this level of emotion and you bite your lip and look away. “James,” You say a bit more condescending than you mean to and when his expression closes off you wish you could regret it.

 

“Albus says he might be round for Christmas.” He says plainly while holding your gaze and you aren’t sure which part hurts more—The mention of Albus or the ease with which James Potter can shut himself off.

 

“Maybe I’ll come for a visit.” You say as you reach up to touch fingertips to his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch despite his best effort and you smile and kiss him on the mouth and try not to think about Christmas at all.

 

Your father and Uncle Theo had decided to spend the holidays in Morocco, which left you in the company of your mother. Over the years your relationship with your mother has morphed and twisted into something that worked for you both. She was incapable of loving you and you were incapable of wanting anything but. Time spent at your mother’s house was often spent alone, which was a blessing and also a curse.  It was Astoria that you blamed for all of your insecurities and all of your demons, even if they weren’t all her fault. It was easier to hold the noose when you were on the other side of things and although your mother certainly had her faults, she had nothing to do with the poor choices you’d made this year.

 

Albus owls you a short letter two days into vacation to let you know he’d be home one night only for Christmas. You stare down at his slanted handwriting until it slides out of focus and you wonder if he will be able to see the differences in you when he sees you again. You spend the rest of the week wondering how in the hell you are going to walk through the floo at the Potter house with the whole family there and what will happen when you do. You aren’t worried about James telling your secret so much as you were worried about Albus just _knowing_ by looking at you. Your relationship with Albus had always exceeded boundaries. You knew each other better than you knew yourselves and you were terrified that Albus would know what you did with his brother and he wouldn’t be able to forgive you.

 

It is 2:30pm on Christmas day when you say goodbye to your mother and step through the floo in the sitting room. You close your eyes and hold your breath and when you step through into the Potter’s living room on the other side you are instantly tackled.  “There you are!” Albus squeals as he throws his arms around you and nuzzles into the warm nook of your neck. Your arms circle him as you swallow thickly and smile into his hair. “Here I am.” You murmur and when you open your eyes and look over Albus’ shoulder, James is watching you with an expression that says nothing at all. 

 

After a few rushed ‘hellos’ Albus drags you off and sequesters you in his bedroom because he hasn’t seen you in months. His hand fits yours like a mirror puzzle piece and his kisses taste like peppermint and black tea and you hope to hell that he doesn’t ask you how you’ve been. “How’s school?” he asks tentatively a short while later, when you have effectively tangled together in a heap atop his bed. He knows how it must sound, asking how you’ve been getting on alone, without him, but he can’t help it. Albus misses you when he is gone but he has the thrill of the spotlight to distract him. He knows you are not happy about it but he loves you for accepting it and more than anything he just wants you to know that he’ll always be just an owl or a phone call away.

 

“I’m…Surviving.” You say after a couple moments of contemplation and then you smile a bit awkwardly and shrug a shoulder.

 

Your words make him frown and you rush to ensure him that you are “doing better,” because you are overcompensating for your own actions.

 

“I’m sorry,” He says as he hangs his head and even though you want to blame him for everything, you find it impossible.

 

“Don’t be sorry for following your dream.” You say, and then you kiss him so softly that he is momentarily distracted.

 

“You’re my dream,” He says into your open mouth and it hurts you so deeply that you want to die.

 

When you can’t form a suitable response you kiss him again and when he hooks his fingers in your belt loops and tugs your hips down firmly against him you do not miss the hardness that presses against you. You were not foolish enough to think you could escape this part and it disgusts you because a part of you is actually looking forward to cataloging the differences between he and James again. 

 

Albus’s fingers dance across your skin and his mouth worships you in ways that crack your heart. His skin tastes familiar and sweet and by the time you are sinking into his pliant form there are tears in the corners of your eyes because you had forgotten what this felt like.

 

Sex with Albus is a far cry from sex with James and you find yourself marveling at the differences as he writhes beneath you. Albus is as soft and sweet as a child and even though you love him more than anything else you cannot help but long for James’ sharp edges that cut you to the quick.

 

By the time you are joining the rest of the family downstairs you are carding fingers through your hair and hoping that they don’t know the difference between sleepy hair and sex hair. James eyes move between you and Albus and his expression gives away nothing at all. You will never know that he is teeming with anger because he is too damn good at disguising it. He knows you belong to his brother but he gave up caring about that a long time ago and now all he thinks about is how long he has to wait until he can defile his brother’s things again.

 

Maybe that’s what this whole thing with you was about. Maybe James was just so selfish that his things were not enough anymore. You are Albus’ most shiny toy and like all things that do not belong to James, he wants to snatch you away and break you into a million glittering pieces—Except you are not a toy or a piece of property and no one has bothered to stop and think about that; least of all, you.

 

It’s sometime before dawn when you wake up beside Albus in his bed and stare out the window at the darkness beyond. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothes your soul and you sit up and slide off the bed without waking him. When you let yourself out of his bedroom you glance at Jamie’s closed door before quietly taking the stairs. You are restless with guilt and shame and you want nothing more than to sneak inside of James’ room and close the door behind you. You are standing in the kitchen with a glass of water when he finds you, and when his hand circles the base of your throat and forces you silently up against the counter, you gasp softly in surprise.

 

“Sneaking about without my brother?” He says in a tone that resembles a cruel whisper and you are struck with a vague sense of déjà vu that makes you shiver.

 

“He’s sleeping,” you say, lifting your chin defiantly and staring back at him.

 

James seems to consider your words for a moment and his hand slackens to the point of becoming nonexistent. After an extended moment he looks at you and you hold your breath because you have no idea what to expect. “Does he fuck you like I do?” His words cause you to visibly flinch because you hadn’t seen them coming and when his grip reacquaints itself with your throat you gasp and your insides squirm and you are instantly hard.

 

“No,” You answer honestly and when he smirks darkly you are not as offended as you think you should be.

 

His hand leaves your throat when he kisses you and by the time he abandons you and leaves you panting breathless, staring after him, you are on fire. It is right here that you realize that you are in more trouble than you ever thought possible, because despite your very best efforts you haven’t just been fucking James Potter, you’ve been allowing him to build a home inside of you and that is the most dangerous thing in the world.

 

When you climb back into bed beside Albus he stirs and mutters unintelligible things that make you smile. You ruffle his hair and curl your body around his and try and forget that you are going to break his heart one day. By the time you drift off to sleep the sun is just beginning to rise and your dreams are riddled with shadowy anguish.

 

“Wake up baby,” His voice is soft like the flutter of wings and it dances over your sleeping skin and makes you hum softly to yourself. 

 

“Wake up, baby.” He says again and this time his fingers slide through your hair and beckon you back to waking consciousness.

 

“What time is it?” You say, squinting at the window.   “Early afternoon. I have to go. Gig tonight in Glasgow.” He peppers your face with kisses that make you smile and fling your arms around him and drag him back into bed with you.

 

“Stay with me a bit longer.” You murmur into his hair and then you close your eyes and wish you were still dreaming.

 

“You know I can’t.” He say a bit sadly as he pushes himself up off of you. He gazes down at you and smoothes away strands of hair from your forehead, his smile turned down at the edges.    “I know you can’t,” You say as you lace your fingers together with his.

 

It is alarmingly easy for you to fall back into this roll in his presence and you wonder if it will always be this easy to lie to him. You stare up at him and look for any confirmation that he knows you as well as he is supposed to. He is standing up and getting ready to walk out of your life again and all you want to see is understanding in his eyes because you know the separation is slowly killing you. You wonder if he sees the invisible touch of other hands on your body like you do on his. You never talk about these things with him but you know they are there. It is, after all, the factoring reason that he ‘set you free’ when he left, isn’t it?   You know you are being unfair and you don’t care because maybe you liked being a little selfish more than you should.

 

When Albus is gone you get dressed and ready to return to your mother’s house. Downstairs the rest of the Potters are gathered in the kitchen trying to decide on what to have for dinner.

 

“We are _not_ having doughnuts and ale for dinner.” Ginny’s voice could be heard a clear octave over everyone else’s and it makes you smile as you come down the stairs.

 

Lily counters with “I think ale is disgusting,” and it makes you laugh as you round the corner and stop at the entrance of the kitchen.

 

“Well it’s _my_ birthday and I want doughuts.” James’ gaze immediately cuts to you as you enter and your pulse instantly thuds a little quicker.

 

Ginny spots you out of the corner of her eye and quickly moves to stand beside you and slide an arm around your shoulders. “Was just about to come and find you.” She says with a smile before continuing. “Maybe you can help us settle a debate, do you mind?” She quirks a brow and smiles so warmly at you that you cannot help but want to agree to anything she asks of you. “Of course not,” You say, and then you glance around at the rest of the family and smile a bit awkwardly.

 

“Will giving James what he wants on his birthday make him more insufferable than he already is, or do you think it’s fairly safe practice?” James snorts in protest and is hushed by his mother, who is attempting to appear very serious about the matter. Your gaze moves from Ginny to James before you respond, and your eyes remain fixed upon one another even after the conversation is over.

 

“How do you know what ale tastes like?” Harry suddenly pipes in out of nowhere, his attention directed at their youngest child who is looking guiltier than you could ever feel. You all share a laugh and it makes you feel like you are part of something that you have never experienced in your life before. 

 

By the time everything is settled James has insisted you stay for dinner and his parents heartily agree. Ginny shoos everyone out of the kitchen to prepare and you follow James out the back door and into the moors, which he navigates with an ease you find only mildly surprising.

 

It’s under an English Oak that you sit down beside him and realize the weight of what you are doing will never be enough to crush you. You glance at him as he leans back on his elbows and tells you stories of running through this wasteland as a child playing hide and find with his god brother. You don’t miss the way his words become clipped at the end whenever he mentions Teddy and you cannot help but wonder what happened between them and why they don’t speak anymore.  

 

Later, when the sun is nearly set you will climb into his lap and you will stare into his eyes and attempt to look at his soul. You don’t know what you are looking for or even if you would recognize it when you saw it, but you know that you want it. When he pulls you close enough to kiss your pulse will thud in your ears and you will forget everything you know except this very moment.

 

When you sit down with the Potter family minus Albus for dinner it does not feel nearly as awkward as you think it should and you revel in this rare and fleeting moment when you can pretend you are just a part of any other family instead of the boy set apart that you’ve been all of your life. You want to feel guilty for being the silent poison that will one day rip this family apart but you can’t because you are greedy and selfish and you want it all.

 

“You’re welcome to stay,” Ginny whispers in your ear after dinner and when you thank her and hug her tightly, she never realizes what you are.

 

The day is surreal to you because you’ve been dreading it for so long and it’s not nearly as hard as you imagined it to be. You’ve navigated Albus and Jamie under the same roof and survived to tell the tale and you are perhaps a little bit smugger about this than you have any right to be.

 

By the time you are allowing James to lead you by the hand into his bedroom the house is deathly silent except the raucous thud of your pulse. When you lie down beside him in his bed he looks at you unguarded and it has your heart jumping into your throat. When you roll him over he smiles wickedly up at you and you mirror that same smile. You take your time divesting him of his clothing and when he finally realizes your intent he shakes his head because he isn’t sure if this is the sort of thing that either one of you can come back from. 

 

“It’s not my birthday anymore,” He says quietly, his fingertips dragging across your chest like they could feel your heart hammering there just below.

 

“They day’s not over until we sleep,” You say with a smile and then you lean down over him and kiss him just like he likes you—Rough, wet and all in.


	3. I of the storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sight of your crying eyes doesn’t make James feel nearly as bad as he really should. On the contrary, your anguish is like a gift created specifically for him and you wear it so beautifully that he thinks he will always remember you just like this.

“How was your Christmas?” Alexa asks you from her supine position on a blue and white striped beach towel. You couldn’t see her expression behind the large sunglasses she wore, but you knew that she was only getting started. “Fine.” You say with as much casual grace as you can muster and you are thankful for the dark Ray-bans that shield your own eyes.

 

It’s the last day of winter holiday and you are still stuck at your mother’s townhouse in the city. Your father and Uncle Theo had decided to extend their stay in Morocco and although they had promised to make it up to you, you couldn’t help but feel slighted, yet again.

 

Your mother has never been the conventional type and the private atrium that she had erected on the roof of her lush dwelling was a shining example of this simple fact. Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy revered two things in life above all others—Expensive liquor and Luxury living. She had insisted that the atrium be fitted with invisibility charms so those “pesky muggles” could not see inside and the sun was always shining in the beams of the artificial sky that had been magically created. Alexa thought it was a brilliant addition and even _you_ could not deny that it was one of your mother’s more lucid ideas; however begrudgingly.

 

Alexa and her twin brother Duston had come round to save you from the torture of solitary confinement and somehow that visit had turned into a ‘beach day’ on the roof.

 

“Fine?” she replies with skepticism that you do not miss.

 

“Yeah, fine.” You say, shrugging a shoulder and closing your eyes. 

 

After a moment of silence she sighs dramatically and says “you might as well tell me S, I’m going to find out anyways,” and you heave a quiet sigh of your own because you know that she is right.

 

“He was practically out the door the minute he got there.” You say with bitterness that you don’t altogether mean.

 

“And?” She prompts.  “And what? He left and they asked me to stay for Jamie’s birthday dinner.” You say, doing your best to inflect as little emotion in your words as possible.

 

“Circe, I bet that was a fucking _joy_.” You can practically _hear_ the smirk in her words, which makes you grin.

 

It wasn’t that bad.” You add casually as you flip over onto your stomach and bury your face in your folded arms.

 

Alexa lowers her glasses enough to peer at you incredulously over the top of them, eyes narrowed at the back of your head. She prides herself on her intuitive nature and her uncanny knack for reading people, and besides, she knows you as well as she knows her twin brother—She _knows_ when you are full of shit and when you are hiding something.

 

“Stop burning holes in my head, A.” You say with a slightly muffled tone, endlessly thankful that she can’t see your face.

 

After another minute or so she returns her sunglasses back to their rightful position and closes her eyes and although she appears to be simply enjoying the faux sunshine, her mind is working overtime trying to decipher the meaning in the things that you wont say.

 

“Can we just stay right here and not go back to school? I’m sure your mum wont mind.” Duston’s tone is groggy as if he’d been sleeping and you cannot help but smile and wish things were so easy.

 

By the time your mother’s driver drops you at King’s Cross your insides are twisting and squirming like it’s your first day. You cross the platform towards the train, trying your best to not search for him in the crowd. You haven’t spoken to James since his birthday the week before and although you tell yourself that you are perfectly fine, you cannot deny that slowly building feeling of desperation inside. By the time the Hogwart’s Express leaves the station you have pushed aside your feelings the best that you can and you sit in a compartment flanked by Duston and Alexa. While they bicker back and forth about summer holiday destinations your mind wanders away and before you know it you find yourself thinking about him again. You can still feel the warmth of his touch on your skin and it makes you shiver where you sit. Alexa raises a brow at the subtle movement but says nothing, although that is not to say that she isn’t cataloguing it along with all the other odd behavioral tidbits she’s been gleaning from you all year.

 

When you can’t take it anymore you excuse yourself under the premise of visiting the facilities and you let yourself out of the compartment without a backwards glance. Out in the corridor you lean against the sidewall and heave a cleansing breath before making your way down to the far end where the cramped bathroom compartments were located.  Once you are truly alone you splash cold water on your face and stare at your own reflection and wonder who you are. There are no excuses that you could possibly formulate that would excuse your actions and the most disturbing part of all is that you are not sure if you really want to. You feel confused and broken and stretched in a million different directions and you aren’t sure which way is the _right_ way. The longer you stare at yourself the more you begin to hate yourself and before you even realize it, the room is spinning and you can’t seem to recall how to breathe properly.

 

When the compartment door slides open you don’t even notice because you are bent over the basin like you might throw up and you are clutching your throat because you can’t seem to get any air to come through. You never see the color drain from Jamie’s face when he sees you like this, although you will certainly feel the heat of his touch through the layers you wore. 

 

“What’s the matter?” He asks as he places a hand on your shoulder and rights your posture. His brows are knitted together with a concern that looks strange upon his face and perhaps in another time or place you might have laughed at such a thing.

 

“Can’t…Breathe…” You manage, with a bit of effort.

 

His expression morphs from worried to withering and this time you really do manage a breathy laugh that sounds more like choking than anything else. “No shit Sherlock, I mean why?” His candor no longer surprises or annoys you like it once did and you can only smile stupidly.

 

You say nothing to each other for an extended moment and when his hands find their way around you and rest at the small of your back, the tightness in your chest loosens marginally. It terrifies you that he has the ability to calm your anxiety with the sheer power of his presence—It’s not supposed to be like this; it’s not supposed to _be_ him.

 

“Guilty.” You whisper as you reach up and touch the side of his face with your fingertips.  The weight of his gaze upon you splinters your insides and although you’d like to tell yourself that you can look away, you really can’t.

 

James seems to understand you perfectly even though you’ve barely said a word and it is the visibility of that understanding on his features that hurts the most. He didn’t think you were capable of feelings like guilt and remorse. You are supposed to be a monster just like he is and yet here you are, destroying all of his misconceptions of you in a cramped steam train loo.

 

It is only mildly shocking when his fingers curl around the nape of your neck and force you to look at him. He calls you a “Liar” and challenges you to disagree with a single look that has you questioning everything yet again.  His mouth hovers mere inches from yours and you cannot stop your gaze from darting down to his slightly parted lips while wetting your own.  Your chest is tight again but it’s not the anxiety this time, it’s the desperation. You don’t know how he breaks you down with such ease or why you allow yourself to be caught in his net time and again but with each passing tick of the second hand you care a little bit less. Your mouth gapes and you try and form coherent words and fail spectacularly. You force Albus to the forefront of your thoughts because you like the torture and when Jamie kisses you, it is warm and wet and you close your eyes and wonder how Albus would look if he could see you right now.

 

James is so lost in consuming you from the outside in that he doesn’t realize you are crying until he feels the wetness on your cheeks. When he pulls back to peer at you his cheeks are flushed high and red and his kiss-swollen lips are begging to be further defiled. His brow wrinkles in an expression that you can’t quite read and he reaches up to trace through the trail of tears on your cheek with a single fingertip. “Do you want me to stop?” He asks with more tenderness than you ever knew he could possess.

 

You consider his question for a moment even though you don’t really need to and when you squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, another stream of tears runs down your cheeks.

 

The sight of your crying eyes doesn’t make James feel nearly as bad as he really should. On the contrary, your anguish is like a gift created specifically for him and you wear it so beautifully that he thinks he will always remember you just like this.  When he leans forward and laps at the salty tears on your face you shudder and shake and surrender it all to him.

 

You are more than aware that the train back to Hogwarts isn’t exactly the best place to do what you are currently doing, but you are long past caring about things like that. When James touches you, you have no choice but to obey because his touch has the power to make you want to die or bring you to life, much like the blood in your own veins. Every time he sinks into your pliant form you bite your lips and stifle another whimper because you don’t want anyone to discover your dirtiest secrets. You drop your head against his shoulder to shield the tears that wont stop but you think he sees them anyways because James Potter sees everything.

 

It is this moment right here in that cramped bathroom that James discovers that he gets off on your pain more than he ever realized. For all of his loathing and disgust over the ways that Lorcan had treated you, he was really no better. His reason for hurting you might have varied from Scamander, but in the end the pain was the same. James thinks he loves to see you cry more than he enjoys the way your skin turns an ugly shade of purple when it bruises because there is always more emotion invested in tears. The anguish that you wear for him is a testament to his victory and although he tells himself that breaking his brother’s toy was his objective all along, the smallest sliver of his insides begs to disagree.

 

By the time you have sorted yourself back out and found your way back to Alexa and Duston you are emotionally drained. Alexa is watching you like a hawk, silently picking apart everything about your presence and trying to decipher the meaning to it all. Duston seems to understand that you just need a friend and he doesn’t even say a word when you lean your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. 

 

You spend the remainder of the ride back to school blissfully asleep and you never hear the conversation that the Montague twins have about you and you never see the worry that is mirrored in both of their expressions.

 

It is two nights later when you find your way to the Room of Requirement by yourself. You know that it is pointless to hide because James has his ways of finding you, but maybe you don’t really want to hide at all. You have never seen this special room in any other way than the simple and out of place loft that Jamie first showed you and you have no idea what it is truly capable of. When you sink down into a pile of pillows you stare at the ceiling and you wait. It shouldn’t be long.

 

Just as you has suspected, it takes James very little time to join you and your skin instantly reacts, the moment he enters. By the time he is dropping down beside you, you are on fire and it takes more self-control than you think you possess to remain where you are. He lies down beside you and tucks his hands beneath his ear and watches you quietly, as if he was looking for something in particular.

 

Unlike that crumbling version of yourself back on the Hogwart’s Express, _this_ you wants nothing more than to bask in the glory that is James Potter and forget that Albus and the rest of the world even exist.  When you roll over and straddle his lap he smirks up at you and his fingertips trace over your clothed thighs. You press a fingertip to the center of his abdomen and trace it upwards over the muscular curve of his chest and he hums softly under his breath. You lean over him carefully, laying an open palm against his cheek as you press your lips against his so softly that the touch is feather-light.  You never tell him that you are also looking for something too but somehow you think he knows because he can feel more than just the goose flesh that layers your skin whenever he is around.

 

Your lips move together in slow motion synchrony and you pour everything that you possess into the kiss. You are slowly devouring every inch of him and searching for answers that you want to find a little bit more than you should be allowed. By the time your lips part his lips are swollen and beautiful and you can hardly breathe. You wanted so desperately to be able to finally understand what this thing with Jamie had become. You think that you should be able to connect to him on a different level with the power of just one kiss but when he looks at you just like that, you realize that he will never be what Albus was and is and you aren’t sure how you feel about that.

 

Despite all of your fears and the myriad of emotions involved you see everything so clearly, perhaps for the very first time.

 

It is this night in the Room of Requirement that changes everything for you. You spend the remainder of the school year playing fine and normal for your friends and sneaking away with James Potter whenever you have the opportunity; and even a few times that you really don’t. There is no room for guilt in this bubble you have built around yourself and so you filter all of it out and lock it away where it cannot be accessed.  

 

“You’ll come visit me in Dorset, right?” James asks you this question late one night when you are lying side by side in the damp grass at the far end of the lake, staring up at the night sky. You’ve been trying to point out particular constellations to him for the better part of an hour but you are finding it more difficult than you would care to admit.

 

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with an arched brow and a knowing smirk, which makes his eyes roll.

 

“Glad that’s settled.” He says, wearing a triumphant grin that makes your pulse flutter.

 

Neither one of you voice the very real possibility that Albus and the rest of the Potter family might not understand why you would ever feel the need to visit James in Dorset when he leaves to join Puddlemere U next year, but it is there regardless because you are both smart enough to know that this world you’d created couldn’t last forever.

 

“I bet you’ll forget all about me when you’re gone.” You know you sound terribly needy saying a thing like this but you can’t help it and so you own it instead. 

 

James drops his head to the side to look at you and when your eyes meet his expression sees directly through you. He still sees you as a monster but now he knows the reasons behind it all and it only makes him want you more. He knows that you make the decisions you do because you are desperate for the confirmation that you are wanted. He knows that when you met Albus you clung to him because he made you feel special and loved and you never wanted to let that go, even when Albus himself was pushing you away. James also knows that Albus’ departure had left its bruises upon you and had driven you right into the waiting grip of Lorcan Scamander; who left bruises of his own upon you.  James no longer denies that he derives pleasure from your damaged soul because he has never entertained useless emotions like regret and shame. He revels in the opportunity to discover new territory that is yet unclaimed and he catalogues and protects each new mar upon your perfect, ghostly form like they are his own. He would never tell you that he loves you for your flaws but that is exactly what this is, he knows that more and more with each passing day and someday, you will too.

 

“You are impossible to forget.” He says so softly that you find yourself leaning closer to him just to hear him better. Your insides liquefy like precious metals and the sensation has nothing to do with desperation or need.  You want to tell him that you could never wash him off of your soul but you think he already knows because he looks exactly like you feel.

 

When he slides an arm beneath you and pulls you close, you go without hesitation and you wrap your body around his and hold on with everything that you are. You will never be able to realize that James Potter is the one person who made an otherwise unbearable year at school, bearable. You don’t want to think about what next year will be like or how it will feel to be left behind by not one, but two brothers and so you close your eyes and live for just this moment instead.

 

“How does it feel to fuck a student?” It is two weeks into summer holiday when you ask him this question. You are stretched out beneath him on the bed you slept in when you stayed with your mother and the way the corners of his mouth curl into a wicked grin makes your fingers itch and your teeth ache.

 

“Ab-so-fuck-ing-lutely per-ver-ted.” He says without missing a beat, accentuating each syllable with a deep thrust of his hips.

 

You laugh softly at his cheek and stretch your arms up high over your head with a feline grace that has him licking his lips. He’s working you so firmly into your pillow-top mattress that you are certain there will be a permanent imprint of your arse in it, the thought of which makes you giggle to yourself.

 

“You think that’s funny, do you?” He says as if he knows precisely what you are thinking about and then he reaches between your parted thighs and closes a firm hand around your cock and you instantly shut your mouth and arch into his touch.

 

“Mhm,” You hum in response, eyes fluttering as he effortlessly matches his strokes with his thrusts.

 

James is leaving for Dorset in the morning, and you have no idea when you might see him again. You still have not seen Albus since Christmas holiday, and although he sends you sporadic owls from random destinations around the globe, you hardly afford him a second thought most days.

 

“Give me something to remember you by,” his words are more like a seductive purr and you are lost on the sky-highs of ecstasy and impending release and it makes your head spin because nobody should be this damn good. His grip on your cock tightens with intent and when he twists you in his fist you bite your bottom lip and stifle a desperate whimper. “Oh fuck,” You manage through the mouthful of skin and when he angles his hips down just like _that_ it forces everything out of you and you come in his hand with a curse on your lips.

 

It is some time later when you find yourself lying beside him in your bed. Neither one of you bothered to get dressed because your mother rarely bothers with acknowledging you when you are with her, which seems to be more and more frequent these days. James is lying on his side with his back to you and you can’t help but trace down his spine with the tips of your fingers. You have acquainted yourself with every inch of him so often that you no longer find any differences between two brothers that you have not already discovered. You follow the delicate curve of his structure and you wonder how you are going to survive without him. When he rolls over and looks at you, you smile, and he wraps an arm around you and pulls you close without saying a word. You are not sure how long you lie with him but you will never be ready for him to get up and leave. You watch him from your curled up spot in the middle of the bed and he does not miss the subtle shaking beneath the surface of your skin.

 

James Potter had never had any real intention the first time he kissed you that went beyond his own selfish need to touch other people’s things. He had never expected that his hatred of you would dissolve and distort into something else entirely. You were no longer just a monster in his eyes you were _his_ monster, and no matter how he chose to look at it something had to give. 

 

“Don’t be stupid.” He says as he leans over the side of the bed and kisses you one more time before he goes.

 

“Too late,” You say against his lips and then you both laugh because it’s better than facing the reality that was staring you in the face.

 

It is some time just after dusk when James Potter walks out of your life and although the despair of loneliness that is already threatening to consume you is not a new sensation, it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You curl up into a ball in the middle of your bed and hug your knees and you feel just like a small child whose parents have forgotten to tuck him in. You will not close your eyes and sleep tonight because the fear of waking up alone is disabling and you don’t think you are strong enough to survive it again. This has always been your most crippling fear, for as long as you can remember. Striving for the love of parents who were not invested was a tireless game that you could not stop playing. Your parents may have been switched out for Albus or James or even Lorcan in his own demented way, but the rules remained the same and you were _always_ on the losing team.

 

By the time your mother remembers you are in her care two days have passed and when she doesn’t find you in your bedroom, she second-guesses herself and wonders if it was just a drunken daydream that you were visiting again. Your father and Uncle Theo are touring the States and won’t return to London for another month. There was a time when the solitude of your situation was enough to break you but when there is really nothing left to break it hardly counts, right?

 

When you ask your mother’s driver to take you to Wiltshire he doesn’t question you because that is what he gets paid for. You find yourself at the gates of Malfoy Manor and when they swing open for you, you smile a bit sadly because this empty house has just made you feel more wanted than your parents have in years.

 

It doesn’t take you long to trek across the lawns and navigate your way through the gardens and find what you are seeking. When you sink down into the meadow grass you feel like you are carrying the weight of several people inside of your skull with you and you stare down at your grandmother’s grave marker and you wish she were here with you right now because she had always made you feel wanted. You had just turned thirteen when she passed and had been anything but equipped to deal with such a loss. Narcissa had, for the most part, been both your mother _and_ your father for the better part of your adolescent life and losing her was a devastating blow that you will never quite get over.

 

Your father had the Manor closed up when Narcissa passed and although he would never talk to you himself about his own feelings of loss, he knew you missed her terribly. One of the greatest gifts your father has ever given you is this Manor, and although it doesn’t technically become _yours_ until your twenty-first birthday, you will always be grateful for the one unconditional gift he ever managed to give you.

 

Since losing your grandmother you spend more and more time with your mother because your father and Uncle Theo are trying to recapture their youth by traversing the globe like they haven’t a solitary responsibility. Your mother parents through the lens of liquor-soaked goggles, which has its advantages, although mostly it’s just a disadvantage. Albus, who was once the sun and stars in your entire world had left you to pursue a dream that you wish you could begrudge him for and now his brother had gone and done exactly the same thing.

 

When you lie down on top of your grandmother’s grave you close your eyes and you wonder what it is about you that makes people want to leave. You search for answers that have no meaning and you feel so alone that it threatens to consume you from all sides.  You have no idea how long you stay in your grandmother’s garden but by the time you find your way out the sun has set and the chilly Wiltshire night-air is enough to make you hug yourself and shiver. You know that you should probably return to your mother’s townhouse in the city but you don’t care, and besides, it’s not like anyone will be looking for you anytime soon. You let yourself into the dark house and nearly choke on the musty smell of neglect that seems to cling to everything inside.

 

You don’t even stop to have a look around before you follow the massive staircase up to the second floor and make your way down a darkened corridor to your former bedroom.  This room reminds you of your childhood and of times when things were so much easier and you drop onto the bed and drift into blissfully dreamless sleep.

 

The following day Albus’ owl finds you and deposits a short missive in your waiting grasp. Albus is currently somewhere in Nevada with his band, who’ve been playing small venues across the states and quickly gaining momentum. You frown down at his slanted handwriting and try and forget that you used to be his biggest fan. You tell yourself that Albus is better off without you and you toss his letter into the fire and watch it burn.

 

It is barely twenty four hours before another owl arrives, this one from your father, who informs you to get your arse back to your mother’s and to stay off Malfoy property without proper supervision. Your mother’s driver is waiting for you outside the gates of the Manor and he drives you back to your mother’s townhouse in the city in silence. Your mother doesn’t seem to notice that you’ve returned or that you ever left and you can only smile grimly on your way back to your bedroom.

 

Alexa and Duston visit just about every remaining weekend of summer and they flank you so closely that you have no choice but to shelf those lingering feelings that are dancing just out of reach, whenever they are around. By the time the end of holiday is finally upon you, you are itching to get out of your mother’s house and back to Hogwarts, even if the reality of what that meant hadn’t quite sunk in yet. 

 

“Is he ever coming home?” Duston asks late one night as the three of you lie on the floor in your bedroom at your mother’s house.

 

You can’t help but snort bitterly in response, which makes the other boy frown because he should have realized. “Sorry,” He says a bit awkwardly and it makes you smile, despite.  “Don’t be, I’ve long given up wishing for Albus Severus to come home.” You say this rather dramatically while laying the back of your hand to your forehead, which makes him laugh.

 

“So what _do_ you wish for these days?” Alexa chimes in on your other side and your grin widens mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” You tease, and when she nods her head and assures you that “she certainly _does_ want to know,” the three of you giggle together and for just a little while you feel normal again.

 

It is much later still when you find yourself lying in a lounge chair on the balcony that sits immediately off your bedroom. The air is warm because the season has not yet began to change and you breathe in the stale night air and revel in the sense of peace that only darkness can bring.

  
Alexa finds her way out of your bed to the balcony and tells you to “scoot over” before joining you on the lounge chair. She links her fingers with yours and lays her head on your shoulder and asks you what’s the matter like she’s asked you countless times before. She knows that it wont do her any good but she does it anyways because she cares about you and she feels like she is losing you a little bit more every day and it scares her to death.

 

You stare out into the darkness for a long moment before you respond, unsure of how to proceed. “I’ve been terribly stupid,” you say finally, resting your head against the top of hers.

 

“More than usual?” She asks with a playful smile that you can hear in her voice.

 

“Afraid so, A.” You say after a deep sigh.

 

“What am I going to do with you, S?”

 

“Put me out of my misery?”

 

“You wish.”

 

A silence falls between you for a long while and you both are content with the view and the night that surrounds your small little square of humanity. You wonder what James is doing out in Dorset and you ache for his touch and you don’t think about Albus at all.

 

“Remember last year when Lorcan put that ring around my neck?” Your words cut through the silence and you feel her tense beside you at the mention of Lorcan and it makes your heart swell with appreciation.

 

  
“How can I forget? I served detention for two weeks after I hexed his damn balls in the great hall.” Her tone is withering at best, which amuses you so much that you can’t help but laugh.

 

“Yes well good, about that…James Potter is the one who made him stop.” Your tongue stings when you say his name and you avert your gaze when she turns to look directly at you because you know you are flushed high and red.

 

Alexa looks right through you for several minutes before she says anything at all and you can actually see the exact moment when realization clicks into place because her features light all the way up. “Holy shit S, you slept with Albus’ brother?” She is practically squeezing the blood right out of your hand that is still in her grasp and staring at you in wide-eyed disbelief.  She is searching your gaze for any signs that this is nothing but a bad joke and when she finds nothing of the sort she shakes her head. “Oh crap, you’re not joking. Shit, S, what were you thinking?”

 

“Thinking isn’t really my forte’.” You say, offering her a faint smile and a shrug of your shoulder. You aren’t sure if telling Alexa about James will make you feel any better or not, but you feel like you really don’t have anything left to lose at all so you do it anyways.

 

“Gods S, James Potter? I can’t even imagine.” She says, wrinkling her nose up in distaste. “He’s such a pompous little shit, I can’t even imagine what he’s like in bed.” She adds as something of an afterthought, her distaste quickly morphing into curiosity as she glances up at you again.

 

“I don’t know what to do A, and I’m scared.” You chew absently at the corners of your mouth and ponder just how much you want to reveal to her.

 

“Scared of what?” She cuts in, eyes narrowing to dangerously fine slits.

 

Your words stall in your throat as you stare at one another in the darkness and your teeth chatter for reasons that have nothing at all to do with the cold. You want to tell her that your fears have nothing to do with James and everything to do with Albus, but you don’t think you have it in you to lie anymore. 

 

“Scared of what, S?” She asks again, her patience clearly wearing thin.

 

“I…” Your pulse jumps into your throat and the words just won’t come and Alexa literally has to shake you before you unfreeze again. She is looking at you with a steady mixture of shock and pity and you don’t know which emotion offends you more.

 

“I think I love him.” You blurt out when you can’t take it a second longer, and with just one look she perfectly sums up your entire cache.

 

_You are so fucked._

 


	4. Wolves without teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You used to know everything about him with just one look but as you look down at him beneath you now, you see a stranger in familiar skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry Albus.  
> I'm so sorry.

It is the last day of summer holiday when you sit down at your desk to write a letter. Your fingers shake as you pluck up your quill and dip it in the open inkpot and you swallow thickly and start to write.

 

_I’m headed back to school in the morning, not sure_

_How I feel about that at all. I had hoped to see you_

_Before I returned, but I understand that you are_

_Busy preparing for the coming year. Hogwarts_

_Certainly will not be the same without you._

_Don’t forget about me,_

_S_

 

You stare down at the short missive for a long while, silently picking it apart and contemplating whether to send it at all. You feel stupid and silly writing such things to someone who had left you behind to pursue a dream and a career but you can’t help it and so you seal the scroll of parchment with wax and send it away with your owl before you can think better of it.

 

When the bird was gone you stood up and crossed the room to the open trunk sitting on your bed, pale gaze sweeping over the neatly packed contents inside and dreading the inevitable. Like many things in life you are dreading returning to school because the realization that you will be more alone than ever is a hard pill to swallow and you aren’t sure if you are strong enough to survive such a thing.

 

A knock on the door behind you pulls you from your thoughts and you mutter a flat “Enter” without turning around to greet whoever it was.

 

“All ready in here?” Uncle Theo steps into your room and closes the door behind him, which generally means he wants to talk.

 

“Yeah, I guess.” You say with a shrug.

 

“We should go out for dinner, what do you say?” He’s standing beside you now, gazing down at your open trunk with an expression that you cannot quite decipher.

 

“Sure,” You say, offering him a half-smile when he turns a questioning look on you.

 

There was a time when Theodore was the first person that you turned to when you had a problem that needed fixing. He had been at your father’s side since you were born and had undoubtedly been the deciding factor in your parent’s divorce. As a small child, it was Theodore you would run to when your parents were bickering about menial things and you aren’t sure when that began to change. As you got older your father and Theodore spent more and more time away from London and there was no denying that things were certainly not like they once were. 

 

“Where shall we go? Your choice.” Theodore smiled encouragingly at you and touched a hand to your arm as he spoke.

 

“Dunno,” You say with a shrug, gaze turning back to the open trunk in front of you.

 

Theodore’s piercing blue gaze remains on you for an extended moment and his brows wrinkle together with concern. He has been silently watching the rift that ran between the three of you grow with increasing intensity and although he is well aware that he and Draco are not doing nearly enough to stop it, he still feels somehow powerless against it. “Well, you think about it and let me know, yeah? Let’s say, thirty minutes?”

 

“Sure,” You say without looking at him while silently pondering what else to bring back to school with you.

 

“Hey,” Theodore’s hand on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts and you glance up at him and do not miss the creases of worry that line his face. “Everything alright?” He asks softly.

 

You stare at one another for a long moment, so close in proximity and yet still so far away. You would never tell him about your problems again and you are not sure which of you that realization hurts more.

 

“I’m fine.” You say and you plaster on a smile so that he will leave you alone. “I’ll be down in a few,” you add, and then you turn back to your trunk and busy yourself with straightening its contents.

 

It pains Theodore to see the light behind your eyes so dim and he feels terrible for not being more present in your life. When he leaves your bedroom he stands in the hall and wonders where he went wrong and how he could have let it get this bad. He feels guilty for monopolizing your father’s time like he tends to do and he wonders if it’s too late to fill the gaping hole that sits right in the middle of his little family. Theodore knows better than most what it’s like to live with a father that does not care for his child and it breaks his heart because you’ve got three parents that have all failed you. He was supposed to be better than this and somehow he had forgotten that. Theodore had made you a promise the day you were born and he will never forgive himself for breaking that promise. 

 

 

When you are alone again you heave a quiet sigh and toss your sketchpad into your trunk before closing and latching it up. You haven’t really given your art much thought at all lately, but it doesn’t stop you from silently hoping that it is still something you can turn to when you needed something familiar and comforting to distract you.

 

Dinner with your father and Theodore is an awkward affair and by the time you are climbing into the bed you sleep in when you stay with them you are thankful that you will be leaving London and all of the problems that it held tomorrow.

 

“So?” Alexa and Duston flank you the moment you step through the barrier at King’s Cross and you don’t even afford your fathers a backwards glance as you board the train with your friends.

 

“So, what?” You ask casually as the three of you commandeer a vacant compartment and shut the door behind you.

 

The Montague twins may have differed in countless ways, but there was no mistaking the _identical_ expressions they wore when they looked at you in that compartment. “Alright, fine. I sent the bloody owl.” You say while huffing exasperatedly, eyes rolling dramatically all the while.

 

“Yeah, I got that. _Which_ owl did you send?” Alexa cuts in while arching her brow sharply in your direction.

 

“Dorset.” You say without a hint of shame and when they both go wide-eyed, you cannot help but laugh.

 

“And Albus?” Duston asks quietly.

 

You chew on your bottom lip and consider his question for a moment before answering. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.” You say, and then you smile a bit grimly and try and ignore the nervous tone of your own voice.

 

There is not a name for the way you feel when you step foot back on Scotland soil. For all of your anxiety, Hogwarts has been your home for six years, through good and through bad, and knowing this would be your last time together was bittersweet. Like those before you, you have made memories within the walls of the castle that you will never forget, for better or worse. You had five good years here with Albus and one great year with James and you aren’t sure that you are strong enough to hold this last year up all on your own, but you’re certainly going to try.

 

A week into classes your owl finds you in the great hall during breakfast and you nearly choke on a swallow of tea because you haven’t seen him since you sent him to Dorset.  The bird lands neatly on the table beside you and pecks at the triangle of toast on your plate as you untie the scroll from its leg. There is no wax seal to be broken and as you unravel it with shaking fingers Alexa and Duston lean in on either side of you to peer over your shoulder at the letter.

 

_Your bird was pretty battered when it got here,_

_Had to keep him for a few days to rest up. You_

_Should really learn to take better care of your_

_Things. Anyhow, Dorset is intense and exhausting_

_And I’m having the time of my life. Shame about_

_Holiday, but it is your own fault. You were supposed_

_To visit me, or have you already forgotten? I suppose_

_I’ll have to find some other way to entertain myself…_

_Shouldn’t be hard, Dorset is a pub town! Have a good_

_Term, and don’t be stupid._

_See you soon,_

_JSP—Chaser Extraordinaire_

 

You stare down at the surprisingly tidy scrawl with your breath caught in your throat. You read Jamie’s letter three times through before you finally remember to exhale and even then, the moment seems utterly surreal. You have no idea what to think and it maddens you that you are so worked up over a fucking owl, but you honestly cannot help yourself.

 

  
“Chaser extraordinaire?” Alexa says incredulously, eyes rolling clear back into her head. “More like pompous arse.” She adds with a wrinkle of her nose, her gaze falling back to the parchment in your hands.

 

“He’s given himself a title, I think it’s kind of cute.” Duston says on your other side, and although his smile appears innocuous, the mischievous look he shares with his sister is unmistakable.

 

“Adorable, don’t you think so S?” Alexa says sweetly in your ear, arm sliding around your shoulders.

 

“Of course he does because he looooves Mr. Extraordinaire.” Duston’s arm finds its way around your shoulder from the other side and rests beneath his sister’s, and although you know they are just giving you a hard time, it doesn’t stop your face from flushing scarlet.

 

“Will you two kindly, shut. The. Fuck. up?” You glance at them each in turn while carefully rolling the scroll of parchment back up and sliding into the pocket of your Slytherin robes, and when they exchange another look before saying “never” in unison, the three of you dissolve into giggles.

 

You had decided to drop Astronomy this year in favor of picking up Wizarding Art, and although it had been a very long time since you’d shared the subject of the night sky with Theodore, you still felt guilty every time you walked into class and sat down at your easel.

 

Art quickly becomes the distraction that you had hoped it would at the beginning of the year and although you are still very much a novice, you will take the lessons you learn with you when you leave Hogwarts for the last time. Your Professor tells you that you have natural talent and over the course of the year she will help you nurture your ability to blend magic with static art to create beautiful and one of a kind pieces that you syphon your heart and soul into. You spend so much of your time practicing theory and concept that you have very little free time to stop and think about the threads of your life that extend beyond these castle walls. When you lie down in your bed at night in the seventh year boy’s dorm you avert your gaze from the empty bed to your left that used to belong to Albus and you wonder what James is doing instead. Was he sleeping? Drinking with teammates? Of course there are _other_ things that he could be doing but you don’t think about those things at all and you drift off to sleep instead.

 

It is mid-November before you slow down enough for your emotions to catch up to you. You are just leaving the art classroom where you had been working on a homework piece after hours when you veer off the path that leads back to the dungeons. Your mind is still on the wet canvas that you had only just left behind and it takes you a moment to realize that you are ascending a set of moving stairs that lead to the seventh floor instead of descending the set that lead to the dungeons below. Your chest tightens beneath your clothes as you walk down an unused corridor and find yourself in front of a smooth expanse of stonewall. 

 

You have made a point to stay out of this section of the castle since you returned because you have made a conscious effort to not allow yourself to sink into that pit of despair that you seem to enjoy so much. There is nothing you want more than to be able to hold your head high and not feel the crippling weight of your fears and insecurities, and perhaps one day you will succeed at that, but today is not that day.

 

When you raise your hand and place your open palm against the smooth stone you shut your eyes and think of the only thing that comes to your mind when you are here.

 

_Jamie’s loft_

When the door materializes before you, your insides twist because the familiarity of the emotion you had come to associate with this place hurts. Inside the Room of Requirement you sink down into that same stack of overstuffed pillows and stare at the ceiling. Minutes drag by and disappear into hours and you are frozen with the debilitating realization that you really _can’t_ do this alone. When you sit up and try and look around the room begins to spin out of control and the tightness in your chest has you clawing at your throat and gasping for air that will not come. You feel sick and your vision darkens around the edges as everything you have worked so hard to bury deep inside of yourself comes rushing out all at once.

 

You drop down on all fours and squeeze your eyes shut and remind yourself to just breathe. Your head drops down towards the ground and your eyes burn with tears that you are afraid will not stop and more than anything you wish that someone would come and save you from yourself. You have never been strong enough to beat the demons that live inside of you and no matter how hard you fight them; you know that they will always win.

 

It is a long time later when you find yourself curled up into a ball in the middle of the floor. Your eyes are red and itchy from too many tears and your lips are cracked and bruised from too much abuse. You are numb and frozen and so you shut your eyes and welcome the darkness. You are rigid fighter in your dreams like you can never be when you are awake and it is here that you wish you could stay forever. 

 

You dream of Jamie, buried in a stack of pillows at your side. He takes your hand and never says a word, but his smile is like a soothing touch upon your soul. You want to ask him how he found you but you think you already know what he’s going to say and so you just wrap yourself around him instead and hope he never lets you go. When you lift your head to look at him, he looks like Albus and when you frown in confusion he pulls you close enough to kiss and you are not sure which brother is the dream and which is the nightmare.

 

You never do make it back to the Slytherin dorms that night and by the time you wake the next morning you have already missed breakfast and the first hour of Double Potions and you hardly care because you are still as alone as you were the night before.

 

 

The sound of the door closing behind you as you leave Jamie’s loft resonates through your bones and you bite down a full body shiver as you make your way back to the living part of the castle down below. You have already decided where you are going before you reach the stairs that lead to the dungeon and you pass them up and head for the front entrance of the castle instead.

 

When you step outside the sun is shining so brightly in the sky that it is blinding and you hold an open palm up to shield your eyes as you squint out across the great lawns. You step off the front walk and head to the far edge of the lawns where the owlery sits and you don’t dare stop long enough to think better of it. Inside you grab a scrap of parchment and quill from the stacks that are always there for students to use and quickly scrawl out a note. 

 

_I need to see you. Make the time._

_S_

When you whistle for your owl he swoops down and lands on the post before you with a soft hoot. You smile and stroke the top of his head before affixing the scroll to his leg.  “Find Albus. Please hurry.” You watch as he hoots again before taking flight and when he is gone you feel as if he has somehow managed to take a small piece of your anxiety with him. You have no idea where in the world Albus is. The last time he sent you an owl he was in New York, but that was almost two weeks ago. You know that it will take your bird a while to locate him and you also know that the anticipation is probably going to kill you, but you cannot deny that this is the first time in a long time that you didn’t feel like you would willingly allow it to happen.

 

It is fifteen days, six hours, thirty-two minutes and eleven seconds before your owl is answered. You are walking across the lawns with your sketchpad tucked under your arm when you spot a dark-haired figure walking towards you. Your pace slows to a pause as you stare across the great lawns at Albus and you have no idea if he is a mirage or real life. “Al?” You say out loud and when he is still advancing on you after you have blinked your eyes several times in quick succession, your heart drops down to your feet.

 

“A little bird told me you wanted to see me,” He shouts and waves a hand as he draws close enough that you can make out every detail of his face.  He looks older than he did the last time you saw him and you wonder if you do too.

 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You say as he walks right up to you and stops just out of reach with his hands shoved into his back pockets. You are stunned down to your core and although he is close enough to touch, you are not sure that it is what you want.

 

“It sounded serious, of course I came.” He smiles a bit awkwardly at you and rubs at the back of his head and it is such a familiar gesture and so utterly Albus that it makes your insides hurt.

 

“I’ve missed you so much Scor,” His voice cracks with the weight of his words and before you can respond he is folding you up in the warmest embrace you have felt in a long time. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” He is dropping apologies on your lips between kisses and despite the very _real_ reasons that you had requested this meeting, you quickly find that you are powerless to resist him.

 

“Missed you too,” You mutter lamely and your arms find their way around his neck despite your better judgment. You want to hate yourself for allowing Albus to wiggle right back into the middle of your world like you didn’t have this terrible secret you were hiding from him. You know that this is possibly the most selfish thing you have ever done and you tell yourself that you owe him this much, at the very least.  The part that you ignore is that small voice of reason in the back of your head that likes to point out how this will kill Albus when he finds out what you’ve done. You don’t want to think about the way he is going to look at you or the way his eyes look when they are shining with tears because you can’t bear it, and so you hold on to him and pretend this moment is all that there will ever be.

 

“Come on,” He says with a smile as he takes your hand, and when he leads you down to the lake and circles it clear around to the far side you do not object.

 

“I bet you forgot about this,” He says knowingly as he waves his wand between two trees, and when a crude and well-worn looking tent suddenly appears you gasp and choke on your own tongue because he was right.

 

Albus easily mistakes your shock and guilt for surprise and he grins mischievously as he ducks into the tent and drags you along with him.  The tent is a lot smaller than you remember and you both have to drop to your knees and press up against one another to fully fit inside. “I haven’t forgotten a thing,” He says against your throat as his fingertips slide down your forearms and clasp together with yours. Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh because the feel of his lips against your skin is familiar and you want so badly to ignore the dread of the inevitable that was living inside of you.

 

“You taste so good,” He mutters dryly as his tongue drags over your collarbone and you shudder with a guilt that he does not yet see.

 

His fingers leave yours and inch beneath your jumper and when they dance across your abdomen you sigh softly and you ignore the sensation that you are drowning.

 

By the time Albus has divested you of your clothing you know that this will be the last time you will ever see him like this and you have already committed to making is something that neither one of you will ever forget.

 

You take your time with him, caressing every inch of his body in reverent and selfish strokes that make him hum with desire. He tastes like the sweetest childhood memories that you never want to forget and you savor the lingering taste on your tongue and commit it to memory.

 

He is gazing up at you with a heady mixture of love and desire when you breach him and the way his brows quiver and his mouth slackens as you slide inside of him breaks your heart. He pulls you close and kisses you with greedy abandon like he knows more than he is letting on and you wrap your arms around him and hold him against your chest.

 

There was a time in your life when you and he were two sides of the same coin. Since the moment you met there had never been any boundaries between you and when that friendship had transcended into something more your bond only grew stronger. You don’t know how it happened or even _when_ it happened, but you can no longer deny that you have outgrown one another. You used to know everything about him with just one look but as you look down at him beneath you now, you see a stranger in familiar skin.

 

When Albus left to pursue his dreams he had taken a piece of you with him and somewhere along the way he had failed to protect and nurture that piece of you and it had withered and died. Of course it would be extremely easy to blame this entire thing on Albus, but it wasn’t his fault, not really. You hadn’t exactly done your part either and instead of drawing on the strength of the bond you once shared when you needed it most, you had allowed the situation to consume you and in the end it had destroyed you both.

 

Albus isn’t stupid, he knows that it will never be the same between you, he’s known it since last Christmas but he has been denying it because you have been the sun in his sky since the first time he saw you. Leaving you has been the hardest thing he will ever do in his life and although he wishes things could be different; he knows that fate has other plans for him. When your owl found him he knew he had to come because maybe the inevitable was slowly killing him too. He’s watching you make love to him with a lump in his throat because even though you have become perfect strangers, he still knows what your face looks like when you have shut something off for good and that realization hurts him more than anything in this great big wide world.

 

“I’ll always love you the most,” Albus says in a ragged whimper against your lips and it makes your eyes burn with tears that you wish he didn’t have to see. 

 

Despite the weight of the moment it doesn’t take very long at all for it to draw to a close, and although you wish you could cling to this moment and suspend it in time forever, you know that it is over. “I’m sorry,” You whisper into his mouth and then you let everything go, even the tears.

 

You remain wrapped up in Albus’ arms for a long while after, neither one of you quite willing to be the first to let go. “Promise me that we’ll always be friends.” Albus’ voice is a quiet murmur against your shoulder but his request in unmistakable and it sends a cold chill slowly down your spine. “Always,” You reply as you lift your head enough to gaze down upon him.

 

He smiles sadly up at you and your heart splinters just a little bit more. You swipe fingertips over his cheek and brush away the wetness that clings to his skin. “Go be a star,” You say and then you lean down over him and kiss him for the very last time and the taste of his tears on your lips shatters whatever he has not already managed to destroy.

 

When Albus leaves Hogwarts he knows that he will never return in this lifetime. Even though you’ve been living without each other for the better part of two years he has no real idea how he is supposed to _actually_ live without you. You were the one thing that he wanted most in this world, from the very first time he laid eyes on you and now here he was, seven years later, walking away from you for the very last time. Albus will become wholly dependent on his career and before anyone can stop and blink he will be one the biggest names to transcend both wizard and muggle worlds alike and it will not surprise you at all because you’d always known he was a star.

 

It’s six weeks later when you finally feel like you can breathe again.

 

Christmas holiday is nearly upon you and although you are looking forward to the much-needed break from your workload, you are certainly _not_ looking forward to returning to London.  A week before the end of classes before holiday your Wizarding Arts Professor assigns you a structural piece that spurns you to owl your parents and inform them that your holiday plans have changed. You are no longer a child who needs to strive for the love of his parents, you are an adult who has the world and the future ahead of him, and although there will always be a part of you that will never stop trying to win the affections of your family you have learned that that is not what you really need to survive.

 

By the time the castle empties out for holidays you are one of a small handful of students who have stayed behind and you don’t even mind that you are quite literally, the only one in the Slytherin commons. Without the distraction of a thousand different voices filling the halls you find new appreciation in your surroundings and you spend most of your time in the empty art classroom working on a canvas that is flowing out of you as you go.

 

It is Christmas Eve when you find yourself lost in your work. You are standing behind your easel with a paintbrush in your hand, chewing on your bottom lip as you squint at the half-finished portrait before you. There was a time when the silence and solitude of Hogwarts at Christmas would have crippled you, but you think and hope that time is gone because this version of you enjoys the silence more than you ever thought possible.

 

You don’t hear him come in because you are so utterly in tune with what you are creating that the world disappears all around you. He stands in the doorway for a long time just watching you and before he makes his presence known he taps his wand against the large piece of folded, worn parchment in his hand and shoves it into his back pocket.

 

“Smashing holiday plans you’ve got going on here.” He’s just stepped into the room as he speaks and the sound of his voice freezes every inch of you. You will never get over how similar his voice still sounds to his brother’s but the difference now is that you _know_ him enough to decipher the details.

 

You take a small step to the side of your canvas and stare at him in wide-eyed shock around the edge of it as he strolls lazily towards you. He looks like a page out of your memory and it sends your pulse right into your throat.  “What are you doing here?” You stammer, the brush that sits forgotten in your grasp, dripping paint that you do not notice.

 

“Nice to see you too.” He says with a little curve of his lips that sets fire to your skin.  “Thought I’d surprise you, but if you’d rather I go..?” He adds on with a teasing lilt that makes you smile ridiculously large.

 

“Not a chance,” You manage as you quickly close the remaining distance between you and kiss him like you mean it.

 

It doesn’t take any more than this for him to quickly snake his arms around your middle and hold you against him because this was exactly the reaction he had been looking for. His tongue tastes like lemon drops and something more familiar that drags all of that hidden desperation inside of you right up to your surface and leaves you gasping for more. When your lips part he grins smugly and wags his brows suggestively at you before turning his attention to your canvas.  You watch him intently as his eyes move over your unfinished work and although you don’t quite realize it you are holding your breath because maybe his approval is the one that you crave the most.

 

“Nice work.” He says with a slow nod of his head and you do not miss the way his lips twitch as his eyes move over the sketched out pieces of the canvas that are not yet hidden beneath brush strokes.

 

“Do you really think so?” You ask, a bit more coquettishly than intended.

 

“Absolutely. I’m particularly interested in seeing this bit right here in living color.” His finger hovers right over a roughly sketched stack of overstuffed pillows and his mouth curves into a smug grin.

 

“You know, with the integration of magic and static art I can make this piece do whatever I like. Think moving picture without the realism.” You arch a brow at him when he tears his gaze away from the canvas to look at you instead and when his grin morphs into a wicked smirk you feel like you’ve just caught fire.

 

“What’s it called?” He asks in a throaty tone that goes straight to your groin.

 

You stare at him for an extended moment, mouth quivering with all of the words that you long to say out loud. You cannot deny what his presence does to you, and you know that there will be hell to pay somewhere down the line, but you don’t care because you think that James Potter is worth it.  

 

“Jamie’s loft,” you say finally, in something that is really not more than a whisper, and the look on his face when his expression changes is all of the confirmation that you need.

 

When he folds his hand around yours and leads you out of the classroom, you go without question, every part of you ready and aching to submit to his whims; whatever they may be.  You stand beside him on one moving staircase after another and when he leads you down a particularly familiar stretch of unused seventh floor corridor, you realize that you would follow him anywhere at all so long as he looked at you just like _that._

 

“I want to tell you a secret,” he says with a smile as he sinks down into a pile of overstuffed pillows beside you, and when he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a worn-out, folded piece of parchment, you know that this could never feel like a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am, as of this posting, unsure if there is more to tell of this story or not.  
> Of course, I have many, MANY more thoughts about the future of all characters involved in this piece, but I am sometimes very inept at deciphering when something stops becoming a story and starts reading like superfluous droll.
> 
> I welcome any input on this if you are so inclined. :)


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